


E. H. ATKINS 






















CHUMS 

By 

E. H. ATKINS 

• • 




1918: 

Saulsbury Publishing Company 
Baltimore. 


C 


* * 

i I 

c * * 


©CI.A5U80J9 

-5 1918 


( 


Copyright, 1918, 
by 

E. H. Atkins. 




CHUMS. 


Nat Billing, a tall, broad-shouldered young man 
of six feet in height, closed his account book with 
a bang, exclaiming: “Thank goodness, another 
day’s work is done, and I can leave the office. Oh, 
for a day of the old fresh air life ! Is it possible to 
live all one’s time in a bank office?” 

When two years previously Nat awoke one 
morning at Grayle Court to find that his father 
had been robbed right and left by his agent in 
the estate, he racked his brains to know what in 
the name of wonder he could do to earn a living. 

Squire Billing had been the owner of property 
in a small village in Cheshire, and being of a very 
easy going nature had not troubled himself much 
about his land, leaving the management of it to 
his estate agent. 

His only son and child, Nat, was the apple of 
his eye, and he had looked forward eagerly to the 
time, when, his boy’s College days being over, Nat 
would be at Grayle Court to enjoy life, hunt, and 
as Nat said : “Unlike you, Dad, take an interest in 
the property.” Then, just as the last term at Col- 
lege was ended, came the thunderclap to father 
and son. The agent had gone off, no one knew 
where, and they were practically ruined ; and then 
it came to Nat that he must turn his hand to some- 
thing. 

Troubles seldom come singly; in this case the 


Chums. 


shock caused old Mr. Billing to have a seizure, 
from which he never recovered consciousness, and 
he passed away in two days. 

When finally bills had been settled and the 
property sold, Nat found himself the proud pos- 
sessor of a few hundred pounds, instead of thou- 
sands, and had to set to work to find ways and 
means of earning his living. 

One of his uncles was a Banker in London, and 
Nat wrote asking him if he could help him in his 
search for work. William Billing had always dis- 
approved of his brother Nathaniel’s manner of 
life, and at first felt very distrustful of taking on 
young Nat, whose mind by now, he said, must be 
full of extravagant Varsity ideas; but after a 
short time he decided to give the boy a chance, and 
thus it was that Nat entered the Bank, as a clerk, 
for a month’s trial. 

The wrench for Nat from the old life to the 
new no one could possibly understand, unless from 
experience, and he often said that but for his 
chum, Tatters, a wire-haired terrier, he felt he 
could not have stuck to it. These two thoroughly 
understood each other, and directly the latch key 
rattled in the lock of an afternoon, Tatters, all 
alert, was standing on the hearthrug to give his 
bark of welcome, and when the door finally opened 
he (Tatters) was simply beside himself with ex- 
citement ; and that boisterous welcome many times 
smoothed out the look of discontent from Nat’s 


Chums. 


7 


face, as he loudly exclaimed: “Well, here we are 
again, old chap.” 

Then, tea over, Tatters knew that he would 
get a run, wet or fine. That walk was an under- 
stood thing, and the race in the Park did them 
both good. Nat had promised Tatters that some 
day, they should go to America and see how they 
could get on there. 

“But, at present,” added Nat, “I’m too ignor- 
ant of business matters, old chum, so for a time 
we’ll stick to this, then — freedom, freedom! I’ll 
work on a farm, if necessary, while you, faith- 
fullest of friends, shall chivvy rats and enjoy life 
generally. 

Today, like many others, they started out for 
their spin, but it was not destined to end in the 
same way, for, crossing the road at Westminster 
Bridge, a taxi, hurrying round the corner, knocked 
down a young girl, who fell right across Nat's 
path. 

When he stooped to pick her up he found she 
was unconscious, but in a moment she opened her 
eyes and thanked him for his help, apologizing at 
the same time for troubling him, and would have 
passed on, but found, to her distress, that her an- 
kle was too much hurt for her to use it. 

One glance at her had told him that she was no 
ordinary shopgirl or clerk, but someone of very 
different standing. Finding that she could not 
walk he took a taxi, and they motored to S. Thom- 


8 


Chums. 


as Hospital to have the ankle properly bandaged 
before she went home. During the drive she told 
Nat that she and her mother lived together, and 
that she helped to eke out a small annuity by typ- 
ing in the City, and that her mother would be dis- 
tressed beyond words at her nonappearance. 

The refined voice assured him that his first con- 
jecture was right, and that he was in the pres- 
ence of a lady. 

“We will see/’ he said, “what the Matron 
thinks; and then I will go and tell your mother.” 

In the meantime, Tatters, to show his willing- 
ness to be friends, jumped on the girl’s lap. His 
master would have reproved him, had he not seen 
how pleased the little nervous hand was to have 
something to stroke incessantly. 

Arriving at the Hospital, Nat simply carried 
the patient into the hall, where she fainted again. 

The Matron, a real good sort, said she feared the 
ankle was broken, but if Nat would wait, she 
would have the little sufferer put to bed, and then 
report to him. 

When after half an hour Moira O’Shea opened 
her eyes, she found herself in bed, in a large ward, 
as though tucked up for the night, and turning to 
the Matron, who happened to be standing there, 
she asked what it meant? “For,” she added, “I 
simply must get home to my mother — she will be 
so distressed.” 

“My dear child,” replied the Matron, “your an- 


Chums. 


9 


kle is broken in two places, and you must try to 
be patient, as it will be five or six weeks before 
you can use your foot. Now that you are awake 
will you tell us your name and address, that your 
friend can go and see your mother?” 

N Almost before she had finished speaking, a 
ough tongue touched Moira’s hand, and there sat 
Tatters on the visitor’s chair, as though he meant 
to be in this — whoever else stood out. 

Because he whined so at being left in the hall 
Nat had brought Tatters under his arm to the 
ward, and no sooner had he caught sight of Moira 
than down he jumped, much to the amusement of 
the other patients, and hurrying along the floor, 
seated himself in the visitor’s place beside Moira. 

Nat, on coming to the bedside, was struck by 
Moira’s beauty. Pale from pain, but how perfect 
was the oval face, while the eyes, mutely appeal- 
ing to him for help, were the true Irish blue, 
fringed with long dark lashes. Was anyone ever 
so lovely, thought Nat; and he knew, from that 
moment, that there could never be another girl for 
him. 

Round the forehead had strayed little rebellious 
curls from the mass of dark hair that had been 
braided up to keep it out of the way ; and as Nat 
sat down to share Tatter’s chair, he blessed the 
taxi driver who had given him the chance to help 
this sweet girl. 

Very gently he asked her to give him her home 


10 


Chums. 


address, so that he could go at once to see her 
mother: “And as a guarantee that I will return 
and report on my success on finding Mrs. O’Shea, 
Tatters shall wait with you, if the Matron permits 
it,” he added. 

“But who am I to thank for all this?” asked 
Moira. 

“Oh, just Nat,” he replied; “no need for cere- 
mony.” 

Great Western Road, Westbourne, was some 
distance from the Hospital, but in time Nat found 
it. 

He ran up the steps of No. 26 and gave a loud 
peal on the bell. In a minute or so the door was 
opened by the landlady, who immediately asked 
him “who he thought he was, ringing a lidy’s bell 
enough to pull the ’ouse down?” 

Nat, somewhat nonplussed, apologized, and then 
meekly asked, “If a Mrs. O’Shea lived there?” 

“Yes,” replied the landlady, “and a nice lady 
she is, but very delicate; so if you want to see her 
you must be very careful, as she is worried this 
evening, because her daughter is late home; and 
when that happens it always gives Mrs. O’Shea 
a nervous headache. Never had such lodgers ; no, 
never,” continued the landlady, “don’t give no- 
body no trouble, and ’er such a pretty young lady, 
too.” 

Nat kept his own counsel, and taking out a card, 


Chums. 


11 


handed it to the landlady, then he followed her up- 
stairs to Mrs. O’Shea’s door. 

When he entered the room he felt as though the 
gates of Paradise had opened and shown him a 
glimpse of Heaven. The room, a long one, was 
bright and cozy ; a dainty tea was set on the table 
in the centre, for two people, and rising from a 
couch to greet him, came a small but beautiful wo- 
man of about fifty; undoubtedly Moira’s mother, 
so frail, however, that it would almost seem a 
strong puff of wind would carry her away. 

Looking up at him with deep violet eyes, she 
said, “I don’t know you, but I feel sure you bring 
me news of Moira. I have been so unhappy about 
her all day, and with us Irish folks that means 
trouble.” 

Nat, after leading Mrs. O’Shea back to the 
couch, told her of the accident, and that Moira was 
in St. Thomas’ Hospital, and that everyone was 
most kind in taking care of her; also that the 
Matron thought it might be six weeks before she 
could use her ankle again, as it was broken in two 
places. The Matron hoped Mrs. O’Shea would go 
and see Moira whenever she liked. For himself, 
he said, he should go and inquire every evening 
after office hours, and then come and report to her, 
if he might. 

Poor Mrs. O’Shea felt terribly lost ; she had no 
idea how much she depended on Moira and the 
hundred and one things the sweet girl did for her, 


12 


Chums. 


and which, she now began to realize, she had tak- 
en so much as a matter of course. It was Moira 
who always made her her early cup of tea, and 
who saw that the water was hot when Mrs. O’Shea 
wanted to get up ; it was Moira, bright and alert, 
who ran downstairs to see that the breakfast 
toast was well done, not dried to a cinder nor yet 
half cooked; and then it was Moira who, having 
settled her mother comfortably on the couch, has- 
tily dressed to go to the office for hours, in order 
to earn a little more money that her mother might 
still have comforts. 

All these little things passed through Mrs. 
O’Shea’s mind in a moment, and as quickly the 
resolution was formed that she would try to shake 
off these invalidish ways. 

She had been, before her marriage, an only and 
idolized child of middle-aged parents, and all her 
life long had been thoroughly spoiled and wor- 
shipped by them. 

Then, when she married, her husband, a Doctor 
with a good practice, had always said she was 
much too pretty and winning to do anything 
more than amuse and play with him when he came 
in tired from his rounds, and so the spoiling had 
gone on. She had a great talent for painting 
which she had had much leisure time to cultivate, 
and once, one never forgotten once, she had a pic- 
ture exhibited in a Dublin Exhibition. The joy 
and pride of her husband was so great that even 


Chums. 


13 


she, the spoilt idol of his heart, could never forget 
his unbounded delight when he heard of her win- 
ning a prize. This all passed through her mind 
as she sat opposite to Nat, quietly thinking for a 
minute. 

Moira, her only child, was very like her mother 
in appearance, although she had more of her fath- 
er’s disposition. She had inherited his happy, 
loving temperament, and was always singing or 
whistling. Together they had had a good deal of 
fun in an evening. She with her harp and her 
father at the piano; and somehow, she (Moira) 
never knew exactly how she had got the idea deep- 
ly rooted in her mind that her mother was one of 
the people who needed spoiling, but she and her 
father managed it very well. Theirs was a home 
that many envied. 

Then came the cruel blow. Dr. O’Shea caught 
a fever from a patient, and was soon no more. 
The two who loved him dearly were nearly crushed 
under the terrible sorrow, but that was not all. 
They soon heard that through Dr. O’Shea’s gen- 
erosity to everyone, especially the very poor, he 
had really left very little invested money, and the 
two, whom he would have saved every finger ache, 
would have to manage carefully to make both ends 
meet. 

Poor Mrs. O’Shea was absolutely prostrated, 
and it was then that Moira pulled herself to- 
gether, although she was only a child of nineteen, 


14 


Chums. 


and they came up to town, in order that Moira 
might try to find some work, to increase their 
income. 

This was the story that Nat got to hear by de- 
grees, during his regular visits to Mrs. O’Shea, 
and it greatly inspired him to push on and do well, 
although at the time he scarcely realized the force 
that was compelling him. 

When Nat left Mrs. O’Shea’s home that first 
evening with a small valise of necessary things for 
Moira, and a message from Mrs. O’Shea that she 
would see Moira the first thing in the morning, 
what a different Nat he felt. Somehow, London 
didn’t seem to look such a lonely place now for “a 
poor devil of a bank clerk up from the country,” 
as he put it. The glimpse of that home, the dainty 
tea table, Moira’s harp in the corner, the soft 
light, and the cheerful look of the chintz covered 
furniture warmed something in his heart, and de- 
termined him that some day there should be an- 
other home, similar to that, but not in town. His 
face looked far happier than it had yet looked 
since he came to London, his step was more brisk, 
and he felt now that he had an object in life ; that 
life held more for him than he had ever thought 
it would; in fact, that life was indeed worth liv- 
ing. 

He ran up the steps of the Hospital, and the 
Matron, who just then stood in the hall, speaking 


Chums. 


15 


to the House Surgeon, saw, and thought she un- 
derstood, the change in his face. 

She came forward, saying to Dr. Watson : 

“This is the friend who brought in the beauti- 
ful little Irish patient upstairs. Doctor, may I 
introduce Mr. Nat Billing?” 

The men shook hands, but — they knew not 
why — each felt there would be war! That they 
would be rivals. Nat, at any rate, felt that Moira 
would be well looked after by the resident House 
Surgeon ! 

The Matron preceded Nat up to the ward where 
Moira was, and scarcely had they reached the door 
when Tatters bounded up to Nat, and catching 
hold of his trouser leg, literally dragged him to 
Moira’s bedside. 

Nat delivered all his messages, handed over the 
valise, and after five minutes’ chat he left Moira 
with a promise to call next day, if the Matron 
permitted. That good lady fully understood hu- 
man nature, and told Nat he might call, but she 
could not promise to let him see Moira always, 
as the other patients must be considered. 

Once outside the Hospital it would have been 
impossible to say which felt the happier, Nat or 
Tatters. 

“Life’s a different thing, Tatters, old chap,” said 
Nat. “We have turned over a new leaf in the 
book of life, and now things may look more rosy 
and bright.” Tatters, not being able to speak 


16 


Chums. 


man-language, nevertheless showed that he fully 
understood and agreed with what Nat said, by 
giving a bark. 

Upon arriving home, the landlady greeted Nat 
with the remark : “Your dinner must be spoilt, Sir, 
which it’s no fault of mine, as you never said you 
was going to be so late. And, Sir, there’s my boy, 
Jack, a-worrying hisself silly over them sums, like 
what you helped him with last week — he’s so 
frightened you’ve hurt yourself or something.’’ 

“Well, never mind, Mrs. Rose,” said Nat. “The 
dinner doesn’t matter, and when I’ve eaten it, 
that is, if I can, send Jack up to me with the sums ; 
I’ll spare him twenty minutes this evening, not 
more.” 

Nat felt like another man from tonight. All 
day long the thought ran through his mind “To- 
night you’ll have news of Moira, and see her 
mother,” and it so cheered him that the office 
hours didn’t seem so tedious; and when he got 
home there was his chum, Tatters, on the rug to 
welcome him, and give his hand an extra lick, 
directly he mentioned the word “Hospital.” 

Each evening Nat turned up at the Hospital, 
and the Matron, who had taken a liking for the 
fine young fellow, always interviewed him in her 
own room. From the first she had told Nat that 
the visiting days were Wednesday and Sunday, 
and that she could not make an exception in 
Moira’s case, except for her mother. She noted 


Chums. 


17 


very quickly the change in his face, and added, 
“Come here each evening, and I’ll report direct 
to you, then on Sundays you can stay the two 
hours.” Nat took some violets each evening for 
Moira, sometimes a paper, too, but somehow he 
didn’t feel quite comfortable about things in gen- 
eral. 

On the first Sunday when he and Tatters saw 
Moira, he thought he had found the reason for his 
unhappiness, for Moira’s sidetable was simply 
covered with beautiful flowers, whilst books and 
a lovely big box of chocolates lay on the bed. 

The green-eyed monster, Jealousy, took posses- 
sion of Nat, and entirely blinded him to the fact 
that his modest little gift of violets were close up 
to Moira herself, standing, indeed, where she need 
scarcely turn her head to smell their fragrance. 
Then, to make matters worse, after about three 
weeks, he noticed that when Mrs. O’Shea had op- 
ened and partly read Moira’s daily letter to her, 
she began to speak of the kindness that Moira 
seemed to meet with and the attention she received 
from the House Surgeon in sending her flowers, 
books and chocolates, until at last Nat dreaded 
the letters being opened for fear that he should 
hear something more. Tatters quite understood 
things, and as 30 on as Mrs. O’Shea began speak- 
ing of the Hospital he pressed himself against 
Nat’s leg very closely, as much as to say, “You’ve 
got me to help you ; just go in and win.” 


18 


Chums. 


Nat had come in contact with the opposite sex 
very little or he might have tumbled to things 
more readily. 

The following Sunday, when Nat went to see 
Moira, the roses were so gorgeous that he remark- 
ed upon them. 

Moira, blushing slightly, said: “Yes: Dr. Wat- 
son sends me so many flowers/’ 

Nat handed her his modest bunch of violets, 
saying: “Of course these can’t bear comparison 
with the roses, Moira, but will you take them ?” 

Moira did take them, thanking him very much, 
and turning round, placed them quite close to the 
bedside. 

“Do you see very much of Dr. Watson?” Nat 
then inquired. 

“Yes,” said Moira. “He comes with books, and 
then when Matron permits, he sings to us ; he has 
a lovely voice. Mother was here when he came in 
yesterday, and he asked her if he might come and 
see us when I go home.” 

If Nat had seen the wicked little twinkle in 
Moira’s eyes how many hours of unhappiness he 
would have saved himself. But love, they say, is 
blind; and in Nat’s case, very much so. He was 
desperately in love with Moira, in fact, he could 
not now imagine life without her. Sometimes he 
almost made up his mind to tell her so; and then 
he argued with himself. 

“A bank clerk! What sort of a home can he 


Chums. 


19 


offer a girl? A slow rise of a few pounds a year : 
why, it’s cheek to think of it. There’s Watson; 
well, he can give her a position and make a home 
for them both, if he likes. Just act like a man, 
and don’t be a fool.” 

Now just as luck would have it, an uncle of 
Nat’s, living in the country near Reading, wrote 
and asked him to spend the next week end with 
him, and Nat, feeling that a different air might 
make him feel in a different mood, accepted the 
invitation for himself and Tatters. 

When he gave his violets for Moira to the Ma- 
tron on Friday evening, he sent a message to say 
that he should not be able to see her on Sunday, 
as he should be out of town, but would do so on 
the following Sunday. 

What a pity that Nat did not see the tear of dis- 
appointment that fell on the violets after the Ma- 
tron had left her. 

Nat enjoyed his week end, and, needless to say, 
so did Tatters. The smell of the country after 
London seemed somehow to intoxicate them both, 
and they felt even the meals were a bore, to keep 
them in the house for half an hour. On Monday 
when Nat was leaving, hi3 uncle said : 

“Come as often as you can, Nat, my boy ; it’s a 
treat to see anyone enjoy things as much as you 
have done.” And Nat, nothing loath, promised to 
do so. 

When he went to see Moira the next Sunday, she 


20 


Chums. 


inquired most carefully about his week end, and 
also told him that she would be going home dur- 
ing the week, and that her mother would be most 
pleased to see him at their home the next Sunday, 
when she, too, could thank him properly for all 
his kindness to her. 

Nat readily thanked her, and said that both he 
and Tatters would be delighted to pay her a visit 
at home the following Sunday. 

How long to Nat that Sunday seemed in com- 
ing ! But when at last it dawned, what a glorious 
day it was. How wonderful, Nat thought in his 
happiness, to be alive, and how glorious to feel so 
well and strong. “Everything, old chap,” he 
added to Tatters, “seems coming our way; and I 
mean to chance my luck this afternoon, clerk or no 
clerk.” 

Now Nat, in his daily and regular visits to Mrs. 
O’Shea, had been told that in the future he was to 
knock and then open the door and go in. So on 
the Sunday he ran up the stairs two steps at a 
time, followed by the dog, then paused for a mo- 
ment on the threshold of Mrs. O’Shea’s room to 
recover his breath. After knocking lightly, he 
turned the handle and would have entered, but for 
the apparition that greeted him. 

In the middle of the hearthrug stood Moira and 
Dr. Watson, who, with his arm round her, was 
speaking very earnestly in her ear. It is true, her 
head was very erect, and her whole body as stiff 


Chums. 


21 


as a poker; but Nat, too utterly flabbergasted at 
the spectacle, did not notice this, and shutting the 
door very quietly, staggered down the stairs as 
though intoxicated. 

Not so Tatters. He, sensible doggie that he 
was, sat down and waited. His remembrance of 
past teas was much too keen to forego this one by 
undue haste, so he calmly sat there, the cute old 
stager, and waited events. 

He didn’t need to wait long, for just five min- 
utes after Nat had left the house the door opened 
again, and Dr. Watson, with disappointment and 
anger depicted on his face, came out and hurriedly 
left the house. 

Tatters felt that something must be wrong; 
first, his master went away, and without tea ; then 
Dr. Watson left in a temper ; now, he thought, it’s 
my turn, so he pushed the door that was ajar, 
open, and looked in. No sooner did Moira catch 
sight of Tatters than she picked him up, giving 
him such a hug, and crying real tears over him. 
He thought he must have done something to win 
the “Iron Cross” he’d heard so much of lately, but 
when presently Moira asked him where his master 
was, his ears fell a bit, and he trembled lest after 
all he should miss his tea, or have to go shares 
with Nat over Moira. 

Nat, in the meantime, had gone home. He 
called himself all the names imaginable for not 
clearly understanding what the flowers, etc., from 
Dr. Watson to Moira meant. “You’ve just been a 


22 


Chums. 


blind idiot,” he said ; “but how I wanted you, my 
lovely Moira.” And, big, strong fellow as he wai, 
he leaned his arms on the table, and with bowed 
head, sobbed like a child. 

Presently he missed Tatters, but even that 
didn’t rouse him as it would have done at another 
time; he just felt that life was nothing more than 
an empty husk, and nothing mattered. 

Just then a scratching on the door drew his at- 
tention, and on opening it, there stood his faithful 
friend, Tatters — and also Moira. 

Without giving him a chance to speak, Moira 
said: “Tatters tore one of my frocks, trying to 
drag me here, and would give me no peace at 
home until I put on my hat to come, so please for- 
give my intrusion. I fear you are in trouble, 
though?” 

Nat, having recovered from his confusion, 
stooped down and literally gave Tatters a kiss. 
When he looked up, Moira said : “That’s just what 
I did! And, Nat, why didn’t you come to tea as 
well as Tatters?” 

Moira’s eyes gave the show away, and the next 
thing that she remembered was feeling her lover’s 
two strong arms pressing her to him, while for a 
short time she could say nothing, as her lips were 
otherwise occupied. 

After a time, with two wicked, mischievous 
eyes looking into Nat’s, Moira said: 

“Now you must be questioned. Weren’t the 
flowers lovely Dr. Watson used to send me, Nat?” 


Chums. 


23 


“Oh, yes/’ said Nat ; “lovely, sweet.” 

“Weren’t the chocs delicious, Nat?” 

“Can’t say,” replied Nat ; “I was never asked to 
try one.” 

“Didn’t the books look interesting, Nat?” 
“Shan’t answer you, Tease,” said Nat. 

“Well, you know, my dear, I didn’t smell one of 
the flowers ; I gave all the chocs away to the other 
patients; and the books I never opened; and to- 
day I sent the giver about his business, so you 
could have come to tea. I myself love violets.” 
Pause. 

Nat took Moira home, and although he explain- 
ed to Mrs. O’Shea that he could only offer Moira a 
very modest home, but that it would be his very 
greatest delight to work for her, and that he 
never expected to be rich, Mrs. O’Shea consented 
to the engagement, for she said : 

“Love surpasses riches any day, Nat; and I only 
wish for Moira’s happiness.” 

When, later in the evening, Nat took his depart- 
ure, Moira was wearing his own mother’s engage- 
ment ring, one lovely pearl in an old fashioned 
gold setting. 

Fate is kind at times. 

Just one month before the day fixed for the 
wedding, Nat’s uncle, near Reading, wrote asking 
him to take Moira down for the week end. 

The old man had very much admired the way 
Nat had stuck to his distasteful work in London, 
and determined to give him a big surprise for his 


24 


Chums. 


wedding present. So finding that Grayle Court 
could still be bought, he purchased it and had it 
put in thorough repair. 

After dinner on the Saturday night Mr. Billing 
said to Moira: “Now, my dear, you must come to 
my den with me, as I should like to give you your 
present there.” Moira, looking radiantly happy, 
and altogether lovely in a simple white frock, took 
his arm, and away they marched, followed by Nat. 

Mr. Billing took a leather case from his iron 
safe, and handed it to Moira, saying : “They were 
bought years ago, dear, for someone very like you. 
Moira, will you please accept them with my love?” 

Moira took the case and opened it to find a lovely 
string of the most perfect pearls, and for the mo- 
ment could not speak, so she put her arms round 
the old man's neck and kissed him, then with her 
soft lace hanky, she wiped a tear off both his cheeks. 

“Now for Nat’s turn,” he said, as soon as he had 
recovered himself. And he held out to Nat the 
roll of deeds for his old home, Grayle Court. 

“But, uncle,” after a cursory perusal, “These 
deeds are for my old home.” 

“Quite so, quite so, my lad,” said Mr. Billing. 
“What more suitable place could you find to which 
to take this little Tease? And may you both be 
happy for many years.” 

Tatters, in the meantime, stood on the hearth- 
rug, with his ears pricked up, and wagging his 
tail, to show his entire approval of their change of 
plans. “JANE.” 

























